But that day, in the rainless tempest,
Simone and I, our clothing lost,
Were forced to leave the chateau,
Fleeing like animals through the hostile darkness,
Our imaginations haunted by the despondency
That was bound to take hold of Marcelle again,
Making the wretched inmate almost an embodiment
Of the fury and terror that kept driving our bodies to
Endless debauchery. We soon found our bicycles
And could offer one another the irritating and
Theoretically unclean sight of a naked though shod
Body on a machine.
We pedaled rapidly,
Without laughing or speaking,
Peculiarly satisfied with our mutual presence,
Akin to one another in the common isolation of lewdness,
Weariness, and absurdity.
Yet we were both literally perishing of fatigue.
In the middle of a slope, Simone halted,
Saying she had the shivers.
Our faces, backs, and legs were bathed in sweat,
And we vainly ran our hands over one another,
Over the various parts of our soaked and burning bodies;
Despite a more and more vigorous massage,
She was all trembling flesh and chattering teeth.
I stripped off one of her stockings to wipe her body,
Which gave out a hot odor recalling the beds of sickness
Or of debauchery. Little by little,
However, she came around to a more bearable state,
And finally she offered me her lips as a token of gratitude.